Before the Prime

You think you love me, Marguerite,
Because you find Love’s fancy sweet;
So, zealously, you seek a sign
To prove your heart is wholly mine.

Ah, were it so! But listen, dear!
Bethink you how, this very year,
With fond impatience you were fain
To watch the earth grow green again;

When April’s violets, here and there,
Surprised the unexpectant air,
You searched them out, and brought me some,
To show, you said, that spring was come.

But, sweetheart, when the lavish May
Rained flowers and fragrance round your way,
You had no thought her bloom to bring
To prove the presence of the spring!

Believe me, when Love’s April time
Shall ripen to its perfect prime,
You will not need a sign, to know
What every glance and breath will show!